Release
by Rae D. Magdon
Summary: At long last, Commander Lexa of the Twelve Clans has captured the great Wanheda. Now she has Clarke tied up in her tent and at her mercy, and Clarke is very pleased with this development...not that she'll admit it without a little torture. (a.k.a. the one where Clarke and Lexa are dumb nerds who decide to go out in the woods and roleplay - 3rd in the Command Me To Be Well series)


**WARNING:** This is the third fic in the Command Me To Be Well series, featuring g!p Lexa. This fic contains a dubcon BDSM roleplay scenario. It's been scripted in advance and is being acted out by two consenting adults in a loving consensual relationship, but it does involve pretend dubcon elements. However, it's also our two stupid sweet dumb babies (Clarke and Lexa), so it's not gonna get too dark. But if you're worried about being triggered in any way, this fic may not be for you. As usual, Rae and I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments and on tumblr [a] ohhedamyheda and [a] raedmagdon.

* * *

 **. . .**

 **Release**

 _With N1ghtWr1ter_

 ** _. . ._**

"So…"

"So."

The stage is set, the large tent flickering with a truly alarming amount of candles. Pretty much everything is exactly as it had been the first time Clarke had entered this tent—with a few notable exceptions, of course. There are no scowling guards thumbing the edges of their weapons, and the large scale model of the lands around Mount Weather has been replaced with…well, certainly not maps. It's just her in here, and Lexa, but this time, her Commander's not sitting on her throne, testing the edge of her knife. Instead, she's testing Clarke's patience.

"Are you certain you want to do this, Clarke?" Lexa asks, all but wringing her hands as she flutters about the tent, moving this and replacing that because everything has to be perfect, and at this point Clarke's about ready to scream. But she controls herself, recognizing Lexa's fussing for what it is: nervousness. And she'd be lying if she said she didn't feel an answering coil of worry in her belly, but it's far outweighed by the tingle of anticipation slowly seeping through her body.

"For the fifth time, yes," she says, reaching for Lexa's waist the next time she gets close enough and pulling her in for a kiss. She puts as much of her need and her readiness into it as she dares, hoping to make Lexa understand that she's been thinking about this all week, as they've made their preparations and gathered supplies and fended off Titus's increasingly agitated requests to provide them with an escort. The muscles under her hands are tense, but as Clarke pours herself into the kiss, Lexa slowly begins to relax. When she finally pulls away, she finds that Lexa's nervous look has transformed into a hooded, smoldering gaze. Clarke grins. "Does that answer your question?"

Lexa sighs, looking at her boots. "It does, I just…I want to make sure everything is perfect, and that you don't get uncomfortable or scared or hurt and—"

Clarke's heart melts. She puts both hands on Lexa's face, gently turning her head so she can look into her lover's eyes. "I know. But I'm not worried about any of that. I trust you, Lexa," she says, with every ounce of sincerity she can muster. "I love you, and I want you, and I want this."

Finally, Lexa's face eases into a small smile. "All right." Her eyes dart towards the map table, flickering over the items arranged there, and Clarke feels herself pulse as she imagines what Lexa has planned for each one. While they've scripted most elements of this scene out in advance, she knows Lexa has a few surprises in store, all of which she's sure she'll enjoy. Her gaze settles on one particular object which they'd talked about at length, but she hadn't thought Lexa was actually planning to bring…

"Well, I'll get the rope, if you want to…" Lexa gestures awkwardly at the central pole that holds up the tent.

Clarke rolls her eyes, but does as she's been asked, placing her back against the post and her arms at her sides. Seemingly done with puttering around the tent, Lexa picks up length of thin, soft rope coiled on the table, and Clarke sucks in a sharp breath as she catches sight of it. Her stomach twists into nervous knots, probably similar to the ones Lexa is about to tie around her wrists. She had been focused on reassuring her lover's nerves before—care and consideration go both ways in a scene like this—but seeing the length of rope makes everything real, somehow.

Once you're tied up, you'll be at her mercy, a voice whispers in her head. She'll be able to do whatever she wants to you.

The thought is both terrifying and incredibly appealing. Her heart hammers in her chest, and her breathing comes faster despite her attempts to steady it. Once the scene begins, she knows that if she uses the word 'no', Lexa won't listen. There is another word, a word she can say to protect herself if Lexa's torments become too much for her to handle, but just the knowledge that her usual protests won't work has her hands trembling and her clit twitching.

By the time Lexa arrives at the pole, Clarke is shaking. From the slight widening of Lexa's green eyes, she's sure her lover notices, but there are no more questions about her certainty. It seems that Lexa has taken her 'yes' for an answer, because with one last gentle kiss to the center of her forehead, her Commander circles around behind her back to attach her arms to the post.

"Hold still, niron," Lexa whispers, leaning over Clarke's shoulder and saying the words hot against the shell of her ear. "And tell me if I tie your wrists too tight."

Clarke already knows she won't—it isn't the first time Lexa has tied her up, and her lover is an expert with knots—but she appreciates the extra consideration anyway. It's just so Lexa, the woman she has fallen in love with, and it puts a soft smile on her face as the rope winds around her wrists. She can feel that Lexa's hands are shaking too, but nevertheless, it isn't long before her wrists are bound and secured. A familiar pause comes, and she gives a slight tug, testing to make sure they're comfortable. "All good," she says, in a voice that she hopes isn't wavering. "You can, um... go out and do whatever you need to do."

From behind, Lexa tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, placing another skimming kiss over her temple. "I'll be back soon. If you need to get loose, shout. I'll be able to hear you." Then she leaves the tent, and Clarke is all alone—bound and helpless, with nothing but her thoughts and the ache between her legs to keep her company. After a moment, her eyes wander once more to the table, where Lexa has left several items for her perusal.

The small jars of oil, she assumes, are for afterwards. Lexa is always very good about taking care of her bruises at the end of a scene. The wicked-looking dagger is also self-explanatory. It's the same one Lexa carried at their first meeting, which is kind of sweet, in a strange way. The leather gag and matching riding crop beside it send a shiver straight down Clarke's spine. She hadn't actually thought Lexa would listen to her request, but she can't deny that she's curious. Curious to know what changed her lover's mind, but also to see what uses Lexa's come up with for them…and her.

Clarke gives a little shudder, even though she's far from cold, and her entire body feels alive with sensation. She can already feel sweat trickling down her back, and something else entirely pooling between her legs. Fuck. If Lexa doesn't get here soon, I might just burst into flames.

The seconds stretch into minutes as Clarke waits, but they feel more like hours. She shifts uncomfortably, trying to alleviate some of the pressure growing within her, but what really does it is the fact that her nose has started itching. It's mild at first, but it soon grows so bad that it's all she can think about. God DAMMIT, Lexa, if you don't get your ass in here right now and scratch my nose for me I'm gonna—ugh. This is officially ridiculous. She chews her lip, wondering alternatively if she can somehow turn her head enough to scrape her nose against the post, and pondering just how much of a farce this evening is going to be. If the last five minutes have been any indication, they're doomed before they've even—

Lexa steps back into the tent, and suddenly Clarke can't breathe.

She's wearing her long battle coat with the chainmail mesh, and her guard is perched atop her shoulder, the crimson sash streaming out behind it as she stalks into the tent, her strides long and lean and predatory. Her war paint is perfect, turning her face into dark shadows and sharp edges, and her eyes gleam with a hungry light from out of their mask of black kohl. She's even redone her braids so that they're higher and tighter, keeping her hair out of her face for bloodletting or…other things. She looks every inch the savage warlord she had appeared to Clarke the first time she'd stepped into the Commander's tent.

This isn't Lexa, Clarke realizes. This is Heda.

The Commander pauses just in front of her, not saying anything, just letting her eyes drink Clarke in: the stained and ragged top with the plunging neckline, the poorly-patched jeans that she'd only just managed to squeeze herself into. After some debate, they'd decided to remove her boots already—ruining the mood a bit, but ultimately, neither of them had wanted to be bothered with untying shoelaces in the middle of a scene. Clarke's toes curl into the thick fur rug as she squirms under the flame of Lexa's gaze. She almost swears she can feel it passing over her, like the ghost of a touch or a hot breath.

Eventually, Lexa appears to have looked her fill, because she turns away from Clarke, heading over to the table. Clarke's breath hitches as she watches her lover run her hands across the objects there. While she knows which one Lexa will ultimately choose, she can't help the thrill of molten anticipation coiling in her belly. The Commander has her back to Clarke, so when she turns, it's not immediately obvious which item she's picked up. But then she moves back over to the chair that's been drawn just out of arm's reach of where Clarke's tied, and the blade glints in the candlelight as she sits down.

"You're the one who burned three hundred of my warriors alive," Lexa says, her voice low and dripping with malice.

Fuck, that's hot, Clarke thinks, shutting her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, Lexa's staring at her expectantly. She blushes, realizing she's almost forgotten her line. "You're the one who sent them there to kill me," she spits back, attempting to make up for her lapse with spirit.

Lexa just watches her for a minute, toying with the blade of her knife, and Clarke tries not to shiver as she imagines its cool kiss against her skin. The chair Lexa's sitting in isn't the throne—they'd agreed, somewhat reluctantly, that they couldn't bring it with them, as it would require help, which would definitely invite questions—but the Commander's sitting in it so regally, radiating such power and confidence, that it might as well be. Fuck, Clarke thinks again, but then her mind goes blank when Lexa stands.

"Sky Princess," she says, emphasizing the words in a way that should be ridiculous but, turned on as Clarke is, just sends sparks straight to her clit. "My captive at last. I should just execute you for your crimes against my people, but it took quite a lot of time and effort to bring you in. So I don't think I'm going to let you get off quite that easy."

As Lexa stalks closer, Clarke makes a show of struggling against her bonds. "I don't care what you do to me," she says, with an appropriate amount of vitriol. "I'll never tell you anything."

Lexa chuckles, low and menacing. "We'll see about that." She continues toying with the knife, rolling the hilt casually between her fingers, and Clarke has to bite her own lip to suppress a whimper. Her attraction to this kind of danger is a closely guarded secret, one she hasn't entrusted to any lovers before Lexa, and it still makes her squirm with embarrassment. Unfortunately, the ropes around her wrists don't allow for much range of movement. All she can do is shiver, an awkward motion that Lexa clearly notices. She laughs again, a cold and convincing sound that sends a delicious shudder straight down Clarke's spine—not fear, but all anticipation.

"Scared already, Sky Girl? I thought you were the leader of your people?" She sneers, as if in disgust. "Wanheda, they call you. I have to admit, I'm disappointed."

Even though they've agreed on it in advance, and even though they've used it before in similar scenes, the poison Lexa spits into her title makes Clarke's stomach churn. This time, the sensation isn't entirely pleasant. She's had plenty of others throw the name at her like a weapon meant to wound—including her own people, people who were supposed to be her friends. Although she has reclaimed it for her own, there is still some pain buried deep beneath the scars.

It's something she can tap into, and she decides to use it. She dives into the hurt and comes back up with renewed energy, twisting her face into a sneer of her own and trying her best to look enraged. If Lexa can sell this, so can she. Summoning what little moisture remains in her mouth, she sucks her spit back and lets loose, aiming right for the center of Lexa's face. It hits with a satisfying smack, and for a moment, Lexa's intimidating scowl is overtaken by a look of surprise as she flinches away.

"You fucking bitch," Clarke growls, not the same way she shrieked the words during their first reunion in Polis, but in what she hopes is a low and dangerous tone. "You wanted the Commander of Death? You've got her."

She pants, waiting for some kind of response, but Lexa simply stares at her for several moments. The seconds tick by with aching slowness, and Clarke wonders if Lexa will call a halt to the scene after all. One, two, three... With a look of sheer disgust, as well as fresh determination, Lexa raises her sleeve and wipes her face clear, smudging the sharp edges of her warpaint in the process. Somehow, it only serves to make her look more terrifying, more fearsome and dominant.

"You are mistaken, Klark of the Sky People." Lexa raises the knife, holding the blade a hair's breadth away from Clarke's throat. "What I have tied up in my tent is no Commander of Death. What you are, however, I suppose we are about to discover."

Clarke waits, unsure what to say in response, but she doesn't need to talk at all. Lexa rips the silence by taking hold of her shirt with one hand and bringing the blade of the knife down with the other. Its edge isn't sharp, but the fabric tears easily anyway—in no small part because her old clothes are almost worn through to begin with. With a few quick cuts, the front of her shirt is hanging open in two ragged pieces, revealing the bare flesh of her torso.

"Some torture," Clarke says as Lexa's eyes fix on her bare breasts, trying to ignore the way the scalding look makes her shift against the post. "Do you just suck at this, or are you a pervert?"

Lexa only smirks at the weak insults, her expression perfectly straddling the line between threatening anger and smug amusement. "You assume I need to torture you to get what I want from you." She presses the dagger flat between Clarke's breasts, slowly sliding it down while remaining careful not to nick any skin, and Clarke can't help but hiss as the cold metal meets her overheated flesh. "Somehow, I doubt my usual methods will be necessary."

It takes Clarke several moments to remember that she's supposed to be resisting. Lexa's spell has left her in a daze, and she has to shake it off before she can fight back. "If you're so fucking confident, why don't you cut me loose, Commander? Face me one on one. Show me what you've got."

Lexa almost laughs at that, and for a moment, a smile cracks through the stony facade she's wearing. But then the mask of authority is back, and her brows lower dangerously over her flashing green eyes. "I'll cut you loose when you plead for me to do so. And take my word for it, you will be pleading by the time I'm finished with you."

Clarke lifts her chin in defiance. "Do your worst."

Lexa freezes. Clarke's just said the magic words. Because despite the fact that the scene was supposed to begin the moment Lexa left the tent, and returned as Heda, of course her lover had insisted on yet another moment for Clarke to indicate that yes, in fact, she really wants this, and they're really doing it. Clarke had rolled her eyes but, knowing it was more for Lexa than for her, agreed. Do your worst is the signal, for Lexa, that Clarke is ready to begin.

"Oh, I intend to," Lexa sneers, having managed to regain her ability to move. She runs the flat of the blade back up along Clarke's chest, and Clarke can feel her skin pebble into goosebumps. Her nipples are already hard and straining against the slight chill, and she can tell by the way Lexa's eyes flick continually down to her breasts that Lexa's noticed it too.

All of a sudden the knife is withdrawn, before Lexa gives it two sharp taps, one against each pointed peak. Clarke can't help herself. She gasps, jerking against her bonds, and then shuts her eyes moments later to the sound of Lexa's smug laughter. "Well, isn't this interesting? I think you may enjoy this interrogation just as much as I will. Maybe even more."

"You're sick," Clarke spits, but her words are accompanied by a furious blush, one that Lexa doesn't miss.

"Maybe. But you're falling prey to the same illness," Lexa says, beginning to circle her with slow, predatory strides. Clarke follows her as best she can, but too soon, Lexa moves out of her line of sight. She feels a delicious thread of fear uncoiling inside her stomach, increasing her arousal far beyond what it should be in a situation like this—if, she reminds herself, I actually was in a situation like this. But she's beginning to truly give into the fantasy, to let it become her reality, and it's a dizzying, exhilarating sensation.

All of a sudden Lexa's behind her, pressed up against her, the only thing separating them the pole of the tent. But that's not the only hard thing pressing against her ass, Clarke realizes with a shiver. A moment too late, she attempts to disguise it as disgust, but the damage is already done. "I'm not like you," she snaps, but she can feel Lexa's smirk against her skin where she presses a surprisingly tender kiss.

"You are," the Commander insists. "You were born for this, Klark. Same as me." The softness of her lips is replaced by a hard bite, and Clarke cries out at the sudden pain. It sends a jolt of pleasure straight between her legs, and she can't help rubbing her thighs together, feeling the way her panties are already soaked with her arousal. She's so wrapped up in the sensation that it takes her a moment to hear Lexa's low chuckle.

"I see I'm not wrong," she says, sliding her hands along Clarke's shoulders, down her arms, and then taking a firm grip on her hips. Everywhere she touches leaves a tingling feeling, like Clarke's very close to a lightning strike. "I'm going to enjoy this. It's been a while since I've had such a…responsive plaything."

Then her hands are moving up along the flat plane of Clarke's stomach to cup her breasts, and Clarke can't even muster a retort. When she opens her mouth, all that comes out are harsh pants. She feels like her brain has short-circuited under the intensity of the sensation. She lets her head drop to her chest in momentary defeat, but it turns out to be a mistake. One of the hands currently kneading her tits is still holding the knife. She sucks in a sharp breath as she feels the cool metal against her overheated flesh, and has to shut her eyes against the overstimulation.

But Lexa is relentless. Her voice is in Clarke's ear, so close that she can feel her lips move with each syllable, accompanied by the hot rush of her breath: "Yes, Sky Girl, I am definitely going to enjoy this. Do you know why?"

Clarke is ready to spit back at her this time, but her mind goes blank when Lexa's fingers take hold of her nipples, rolling and pinching them to the edge of pain. She's suddenly unable to focus on anything other than not letting the Commander know just how much this is affecting her, shutting down her body's urges to squirm, to gasp, to moan. But her resistance is gone when Lexa murmurs the answer to her own question: "Because you're mine."

Clarke's reaction to those words is immediate. She trembles, arching away from the pole, pelvis jerking in search of pressure. She needs to ease the throbbing ache between her legs, and she's so sensitive, so ready, that just the thought of Lexa's thigh, Lexa's fingers, Lexa's cock rubbing against her is enough to soak her underwear. Heat pulses from deep within her, until the fabric is a sticky, sodden mess. Her face burns, and for a moment, she's grateful Lexa is behind her, unable to see what she's certain is a vivid blush.

Her relief doesn't last long. The knife travels lower, passing down along her stomach a whisper away from her flesh without actually making contact. It's close enough to make her shiver, but she finds herself aching for the chill of the metal blade. Before she can even whimper, it's gone, replaced with the warmth of Lexa's palm. The light calluses are familiar, and for a moment, Clarke's heart rate slows down. She knows these hands, this touch, and she savors the brief gesture of reassurance amidst the intensity of the scene.

Then, Lexa's touch turns hard. The sharp edges of her lover's nails score down her front, lighting up her skin wherever they scratch. "You pretend you do not want this, but your body says otherwise," Lexa hisses, close enough for Clarke to feel the wash of her breath. "It wants my claim. My marks. Every single inch of it." Wet heat seals around Clarke's throat to punctuate the statement, and she can't hold back a whine of desire as Lexa's teeth sink into the cord of her shoulder again. The bite is possessive, dominant, hard enough to leave a mark—a mark she will wear proudly once this scene is over.

But right now, she's supposed to be resisting. It's easy to forget, but she does her best to remember her role. It won't be nearly as much fun if she gives in without a fight. "Fuck you," she snarls, jerking away from Lexa's mouth and pulling hard against her bonds. The ropes cut into her wrist, but not too hard. Lexa has bound her well. "I'm not yours, you fucking sadist. If you think I'm enjoying any of this, you're crazy."

"Oh? I think you're lying, Sky Girl. Your skin is burning." Lexa's hand splays all the way across her stomach, as if to test the quivering plane there. "Your muscles are tensing..." Instead of moving down, Lexa's hand slides up, cupping one of her breasts and kneading it for a few wonderful moments before tweaking the stiff tip. That sensation is too much. It sends a spark straight down to her twitching clit, and Clarke whimpers, chewing furiously at her lower lip in self-punishment when her mistake of a sound echoes in her own ears. "And your nipples are hard. Is it cold in here, Clarke of the Sky People, or is there another reason?"

"Th—that doesn't prove anything," Clarke stammers, trying and failing to sound sincere. Lexa has begun rolling the proud peak of her breast between two fingertips, and her inner walls pulse in time with each sharp pinch. "That doesn't mean I want this..."

"But I think you do." Lexa switches to her other breast, tugging sharply at the tip before feathering over it with the edge of a thumb. "And I'm about to have the proof in my hands." Even though Clarke suspects what is coming next, she still shudders in surprise as Lexa's other hand caresses her belly. She must have put the knife away, which leaves Clarke just a little sad, but she can't be too disappointed while both of Lexa's palms are roaming across her body. The first begins squeezing her breast, kneading possessively, while the second slides down toward the hem of her pants. Lexa wastes no time in flipping open the button, and Clarke groans despite herself.

Within a matter of moments, Lexa's hands have crept into her fly, shoving the waistband of her panties aside and dipping beneath them. She hits wetness almost immediately, and Clarke's face sears even hotter. She knows without checking that she's made a dripping mess of her underwear, and now Lexa can feel it—can feel just how slick and swollen and slippery she is. And worst of all, there is no denying what caused it. This scene. The harsh words. The knife, and Lexa's selfish, possessive touch. Even though she trusts her lover implicitly, Clarke can't help but feel exposed.

The Commander lets out a low hiss as soon as her fingers meet Clarke's dripping, swollen sex, giving a jerk of her hips that Clarke fairly certain is involuntary. But instead of ruining the mood of the scene, Lexa's momentary lapse only serves to increase Clarke's arousal. The idea that Heda is on the brink of losing control, ripping Clarke's clothes off, and fucking her senseless makes her eyes roll back in her head.

Or maybe that's because Lexa's fingers are playing with her torturously, circling the twitching, needy bud of her clit and rolling ever so gently over the head, tracing the length of her soaked slit and teasing her entrance, before returning to stroke her from base to tip. It only takes a few minutes of this misery before Clarke is panting desperately into the air, her entire body shivering with the need for release. God, I didn't realize I was this wound up. How does she do this to me?

As if she can hear Clarke's thoughts, Lexa's hot breath is on her neck moments later, her voice low and mesmerizing, her words dangerous. "I think it's very clear what you want, Sky Girl," she says, punctuating her words with a sharp pinch to Clarke's clit that makes her jump and swallow a yelp. "The way you're dripping for me…the way your body's shaking against me…the way you keep chasing my fingers in search of your pleasure..." Clarke hadn't even realized she was doing it until her lover mentions it, but she's bucking her hips, trying to get the torturous stimulation in the right places. Gritting her teeth, she forces herself to stop.

"I don't want this," she grits out, even as she releases a fresh tide of wetness when Lexa's thumb rolls over the head of her clit. "I don't want you. I don't know what the fuck you think you're doing, but—ah!"

Lexa's plunges two fingers deep inside of her, hooking them knowingly against her front wall, and Clarke can't help the hoarse cry that tears itself from her throat at the sudden pressure and fullness. She clamps her mouth shut a moment later, but a surge of fluid escapes her at the thought of being filled with something more: Lexa's cock inside of her, using her, thrusting selfishly in search of her own pleasure and yet somehow managing to batter against the same spot her hand is tormenting now…

"You're lying," Lexa hisses in her ear. She takes hold of it with her teeth and tugs, giving a particularly sharp push that has Clarke crying out again. "I know what you are, Klark, and I'm going to make you say it. But first, I'm going to make you come."

"No," Clarke sobs, even though her entire body has flushed in anticipation, and everything inside of her is screaming yes! "I won't come for you. You can't make me…"

Her words trail off into harsh gasps as Lexa forces a third finger deep inside of her. Despite her words, Clarke's inner walls grip at the intrusion greedily, trying to pull her in deeper. Lexa's fingers work faster, harder, pumping in just the right way, stretching her, filling her deliciously. She can't stop herself from moaning openly even as her face heats up with embarrassment. The fact that the Commander can pull these responses from her, even when she's determined to resist, is both deeply humiliating and incredibly arousing, and the two emotions are twining together to turn her into a needy, wanton mess.

"I can," Lexa growls, low, "and I will. Come for me, Klark of the Sky People. Come for your Commander."

She's got a retort ready in her throat, but then the ball of Lexa's thumb traps her clit just so, and a scream bursts from her lips instead. She shudders as her release sweeps over her, her inner walls clamping around Lexa's fingers and her hips bucking wildly against Lexa's hand. Pulse after pulse of wetness bursts from within her, soaking the Commander's hand, her ruined underwear, the crotch of her pants, and she's utterly helpless to stop it. Her body is putty in Lexa's hands, to mold and shape and use as she pleases. And the worst part is that Lexa knows it.

Lexa continues to murmur filthy things into Clarke's ear as she milks her through the final throes of her orgasm, terrible promises that Clarke can't remember after, but that she burns to hear. And then it's over. She slumps against the post, her head dropped against her chest in defeat—for the moment. As soon as she can get enough oxygen to formulate a thought, she's contemplating how she'll get Lexa back for the pleasure that she's stolen. There's a large part of her that desperately wants to skip the rest of the scene and demand that Lexa yank off her pants and fuck her now, but she knows the longer she resists, the more she can drive her lover to greater heights of possessiveness and dominance, the more explosive her next release is going to be. Lexa may have won this round, but Clarke's fight is nowhere near over.

. . .

Lexa gazes at Clarke's trembling body in awe, so captivated that she almost slips out of her role. It's not usually such a struggle to put on the mask of Heda, but with her lover writhing and arching inches away, bare chest heaving with each uneven breath, hips bucking in a weak attempt to ride her fingers...part of her can't help but want to put it aside. When Clarke looks this beautiful, something inside her aches to be Lexa. To hold Clarke tight. To whisper reassurances and cover Clarke's face in tender kisses.

But another part of her is hungry. She has never felt the need to dominate Clarke, to make her hainofi grovel like her subjects, to make the Sky Girl submit to her power. But when that submission is offered up like a gift; when Clarke obeys not just willingly, but eagerly; when Clarke pleads to be hers and surrenders happily and of her own free will, even when she is pretending otherwise—so unlike the grudging, fearful way the members of her Coalition submit to the authority of their Commander...

Something about it is different. Something about it is intoxicating. It makes Lexa's cock strain against the front of her pants, pleading for freedom just as Clarke is silently pleading for more of her touch. This is not her fantasy, but satisfying Clarke is—not only sexually, but emotionally as well. Bringing Clarke to the peak of pleasure, lifting her to dangerous heights and catching her as she falls, is an experience so precious that Lexa isn't sure she's worthy.

You are worthy, a voice inside of her head says, one that sounds surprisingly like Clarke's. Clarke has decided you are. Her opinion is the one you respect most in the world. Listen to it.

With a deep breath, she comes back to herself. She realizes she has been staring, and runs her tongue over her bottom lip, narrowing her eyes in what she hopes seems like smug satisfaction. With any luck, Clarke will think she has just been relishing in her conquest. To enhance the misconception, she removes her fingers, ignoring the whimper Clarke makes at their loss, and then circles around to the front of the post, slipping them luxuriously between her lips. Clarke's flavor is heavy and delicious on her tongue, and she has no trouble coaxing up a low, satisfied moan as she tastes the reward for her efforts.

Clarke notices. She stiffens against the post, shivering with desire and flushing with shame, and Lexa shapes her mouth into a smirk at the sight. "I see I was right about the fearless Wanheda," she taunts, holding up her fingers. They're glistening with her own saliva now instead of Clarke's come, but she hopes it's still enough to make Clarke squirm with embarrassment and humiliation. "My warriors have another name for you, did you know that? They call you steltrona, the uncatchable, untameable mare. But now that I've caught her, I see that's not true. Take off her clothes, and she's as weak as any mortal woman. Maybe the others who have tried to defeat you should have just put a hand between your legs instead of coming at you with their swords and their fayagon. They might have had more success."

She can tell that her comments have hit home, because Clarke bares her teeth in anger, responding with a snarl and tugging at her bonds with renewed vigor. "It doesn't mean anything," she snaps, like a dog reaching the end of its chain and trying to break free. "Just because you made me come doesn't mean you've broken me. I hate this. I didn't want it. I didn't like it."

"Oh no?" Lexa slides her hand back between Clarke's legs, taking her time, gathering up a great deal of the wetness that has leaked down Clarke's thighs. Once her fingers are coated again, she slips them back inside of Clarke with an obscene, sticky squelching sound, hooking them forward to find the sensitive spot against Clarke's front wall. It's still swollen, still needy, and she does her best to impersonate a cruel laugh when she hits it. "This says otherwise. Your body is betraying you, Wanheda. What do you think it will say when I finally fuck you?"

That gets Clarke's attention. Her eyes dart down to the front of Lexa's pants, glimmering with what is clearly excitement instead of fear. The slight giveaway actually puts Lexa at ease. She appreciates the small signs that Clarke is enjoying this and not just enduring it, and she treasures them just like she treasures everything else about her lover. "You're going to fuck me?" Clarke asks. Her voice is breathy, but she is clearly trying and failing to sound apprehensive. "Isn't that what you just did?"

"Not just fuck you," Lexa says. She removes her fingers again, having proven her point, and hurries to unfasten her pants instead. Her cock is swollen and straining against them, and she can't help sighing in relief as she pulls it out through her fly. "I'm going to make you beg me for the privilege of taking Heda's cock."

She gives herself a few slow, lazy strokes, watching as Clarke fights a losing battle against letting her burning gaze drop to the almost painfully hard shaft in her hand. There have been a couple of moments tonight where her lover has played the defiant captive so well that Lexa almost stopped the scene to ask if she was all right, but each time, she has managed to hold back. Clarke knows what to say if things have gone too far, and Lexa trusts her to say it if she needs to.

Now, however, is one of the moments that reassures Lexa she's made the right decision. Clarke's true desire for her is showing through as she lets herself lose the fight, eyes trawling slowly down Lexa's body to the dripping cock in her hand and lingering there. Clarke's breath comes in short, shallow gasps, and the way she's rubbing her thighs together tells Lexa that she's just gotten wetter, if that's even possible. She has to fight against the urge to sink to her knees, peel off the remainder of her lover's ruined clothing, and dip her head for a taste of the delicious fluid at the join of Clarke's legs. But she resists, knowing there will be time for that later. First, she will serve Clarke in a different way.

She tilts her head, pretending to consider as she watches Clarke watch her. The Sky Girl's blue eyes follow every movement of her hand along her shaft, and she smirks in satisfaction. "Now, how do I want you?" she says in a low, heated murmur. "I could just take you here, tied up like this..." Clarke jerks at the thought, and she squeezes her length a little harder. "...but that won't be particularly comfortable for either of us. Of course, I do have a perfectly good bed." She nods her head in the direction of the curtain that separates the main room of the tent from the sleeping area. "I am Heda, after all. Just because I'm on campaign doesn't mean I don't sleep in comfort."

Clarke gives her a dry look from under her eyelashes, accompanied with the slightest arch of an eyebrow, and Lexa flushes. Subtle as it might be, the message is clear: You're overdoing this. For the briefest moment, she allows her expression to become apologetic, but then she's back to business. Narrowing her eyes at Clarke, she stalks closer, still pumping her cock in her hand. "If you're prepared to be good, I'm willing to allow you to share in that comfort, but first, you need to admit that you want it."

Her cock gives a particularly powerful throb at the thought, and she has to grit her teeth to keep from utterly ruining the scene. Luckily, Clarke either doesn't notice, or doesn't care. She looks borderline mesmerized, her mouth hanging slightly open and her eyes glassy. When she doesn't respond, Lexa prompts her a little more harshly. "Tell me you want this, Skayon. Admit that you want to know how my cock feels splitting you open. Say you want me to fuck you, to use you for my pleasure, to fill you with my release. Admit it, and I promise to make this enjoyable for you."

Clarke can't hold in a little whimper at the words, but a moment later, her mouth snaps shut and her eyes blaze in defiance. Shrugging, Lexa stops touching herself and folds her arms across her chest, affecting nonchalance. "I'm going to have you either way, Klark," she says, her voice a vicious purr, like silk over steel. "This is the only choice I'm offering you tonight. Admit that you want the pleasure I can give you, or endure as I take my pleasure from you. Those are your only two options."

She watches as Clarke chews her lip, fighting with herself. The Sky Girl does a very good job of looking as though she's truly struggling over whether or not to give in to Lexa's threatening promise, although the truth is likely closer to Clarke pondering how far she'd like to drag out her release. Eventually, however, a sulky expression settles over her face. "Fine."

Lexa's eyebrows rise. "Not good enough. Try again."

Clarke's head snaps up, eyes hot with a mixture of defiance and defeat. "I said fine. I want you to fuck me, okay? Untie me and…fuck me on the bed. Like you're not a savage," she can't help adding, but Lexa only chuckles, moving around behind the post again and pulling her knife from its sheath.

"We are what we are," she says in Clarke's ear, enjoying the shiver and the little gasp earned by her words and the cold flash of the steel. Then Clarke's wrists are free. She steps away from the post on shaky legs, rubbing her wrists to check for soreness. Lexa watches her carefully, making certain not to betray the concern she feels, but hyper-vigilant for the slightest hint of a wince. Fortunately, there are none, and so she steps closer, setting the knife back on the table. "You made the right decision, Sky Princess," she says, allowing herself a smug grin. "Now, take off your pants and get on the bed."

To her shock, however, Clarke takes a step away from her and shakes her head. "No."

A heated mixture of fury, astonishment, and arousal flares through Lexa, setting her entire body alight. "No?" she hisses.

Clarke nods sharply, looking both terrified and turned on. "That's right. No. Or did your boner make you forget what that means?"

Lexa growls at the insulting words, stalking closer, hands curled into fists at her sides. Clarke backs up, eyes growing impossibly wider as the Commander bears down on her. She's not quite certain whether the little squeak Clarke lets out when her rear hits the edge of the map table is on purpose or not, but by now she doesn't care. In this moment, she's a hunter and Clarke is prey, all but begging her to give chase. She's almost disappointed that Clarke has allowed herself to be cornered so soon.

She backs the Sky Girl up until she's nearly sitting on the table before resting both palms on its edge, on either side of Clarke's thighs. "That was a very bad idea," she snarls, enjoying the little shiver the sound elicits, "and now you're going to pay the price." Inspiration strikes, and she whirls Clarke around, grabbing a pair of leather cuffs from the table right behind her lover's trembling frame. Her other hand flicks out to seize Clarke's wrists, and soon she's buckling them into place behind Clarke's back, her fingers quick and sure. They've used these particular restraints rather often since Clarke had confessed her enjoyment of being handcuffed, and so she knows exactly which settings fit.

After only a few moments of work, Lexa finishes her task and gets to enjoy her prize: Clarke, forearms bound together, body trembling, breasts pushed out in the most beautiful way. Lexa can't help but press herself up against Clarke's back, reaching around to tweak the stiff peak of a fat pink nipple with one hand and stroking her plush thigh with the other. Clarke is all curves, curves Lexa loves caressing, and even though she knows she's supposed to be playing the cruel Commander, she can't help but savor the skin under her hands.

Her touch is worshipful enough to make Clarke gasp, and she changes tactics, digging her nails into the tender flesh of Clarke's leg. Eager to prove that she can commit to her role, she shoves Clarke forward over the table, pinning her flat against its surface and forcing her to raise her hips. The sight before her is suddenly twice as enticing. Clarke's pants are still tangled at mid-thigh, and her underwear is blocking some of the view, so she quickly uses the blade of the knife to cut the remaining shreds of offending fabric away.

Once it's all off, she stares, drinking the picture in and committing it to memory. Clarke is completely bare before her at last, shaking with a mixture of desire and anticipation. Lexa knows her lover isn't afraid of her, not precisely, but she is nervous, vulnerable, and very, very wet. The slickness between her legs is open and exposed, her swollen clit straining, her tight pink entrance fluttering. Just to punish Clarke for her earlier disobedience, Lexa flips the dagger around, holding the bottom of the hilt delicately between the circle of her thumb and forefinger so she can press the top against Clarke's opening.

The hiss she receives is pure pleasure, followed by a whimper of confusion. Clarke isn't quite sure what's happening, but Lexa presses a hand in the middle of her back, making sure she doesn't get any ideas about standing up again. "I would tell you not to move," Lexa growls—a warning, since she doesn't want Clarke to jerk and accidentally hurt herself, "but I don't think I need to. You're already bent over for me." She gives the dagger a light thrust, letting an inch of the hilt sink inside and watching in fascination as Clarke's inner muscles try to suck it in. "You're already presenting yourself so nicely."

Clarke groans at those words, but the sound turns into a spitting snarl. "You made me do this," she snaps, pretending to pull at her bonds, but keeping her lower half still. "I hate it."

At those words, Lexa is relieved. She is glad that Clarke has remembered to say 'it' and not 'you'. Even during a scene, those are words she never wants to hear from her lover's lips. After one more push, she pulls the dagger out. She can't actually fuck Clarke with it, as interesting as that visual would be. Instead, she sets it back on the table, searching for something a little less dangerous.

Her gaze lights on some of the other items, and a smirk spreads across her face. The riding crop and the gag resting there certainly have some interesting possibilities. She selects the gag first, gripping Clarke's chin in one hand and turning her head forcefully back to slip it in place. Clarke's eyes are wide and bright, but they are sparkling with need instead of fear, and when Lexa hesitates, the Sky Girl gives her a wink—clear consent, even if it does break the mood.

Lexa is grateful. She places a quick, gentle kiss to Clarke's temple, her own loving response, and then puts the gag between Clarke's lips, securing it behind her head. Her stomach churns for a moment, and she pushes Clarke's head back against the table to cover up her embarrassment. She has just realized that with Clarke's mouth occupied, she'll have to keep the stream of filthy words going all by herself, without any help. She draws a deep breath, deciding to take it as a challenge. She knows what Clarke likes, and she is confident in her ability to deliver.

"Now that your smart mouth is taken care of, maybe I can convince you to see things my way." She runs the flat of her hand over the upturned swell of Clarke's ass, preparing the skin there and giving her lover some warning for what she has planned. "With proper training, even the mighty Wanheda can be broken in." She takes up the crop, tracing its flat edge over the other side of Clarke's rear, amusing herself by discovering which light patterns make the Sky Girl squirm. "The great Commander of Death, trembling at the thought of a little pain. Or are you shivering because the thought of being mine pleases you?"

Without any further preparation, she draws the crop back and delivers a sharp, testing smack with the flat tab, enjoying the muffled yelp the blow causes. Even with the gag in place, she can tell it's a sound of surprise and not discomfort. She drags the tab away, admiring the small pink mark she has left, licking her lips at the thought of making more. She draws back and delivers two more swift strikes, one tap to each of Clarke's cheeks. Clarke flinches, haunches quivering, letting out a snort of air through her nose, but this time, she manages to stifle her shouts.

The reaction is lovely, but not satisfying enough. Instead of bringing the crop down again, Lexa drags it up along Clarke's thigh, following one of the many glistening trails of wetness there. "You're dripping all over the floor of my tent, Wanheda," she drawls, sliding the tab up to the pouting lips of Clarke's pussy and letting it press between them. She teases the shimmering folds for a moment before settling the small square over Clarke's clit, rubbing it up and down. That gets an immediate reaction. Clarke bucks, jerking forward into the edge of the table and then pushing back in search of more. Lexa laughs, trying to make the sound high and cold. "Or perhaps I should call you something else now? Something more befitting your behavior?"

Clarke lets out something like a whine, but it turns into a low growl of pretend anger. Apparently, she isn't ready to submit quite yet, even bound and gagged with her backside sticking up in the air. Lexa removes the crop from Clarke's clit in punishment, delivering another series of swift slaps with the flat of the crop. "You think you can continue to disobey me." Smack. "But it's only a matter of time." Smack. "Even the most stubborn, willful mares can be broken with the right hand." Smack, smack, smack. "And I will be riding you tonight, Sky Girl. Make no mistake."

At first, she wonders if she has gone too far, but when she stops bringing the crop down, Clarke practically melts on top of the table. All her muscles relax at once, and she lifts her hips for more punishment and pleasure, seeming to forget that she's supposed to be playing the unwilling captive.

Lexa's definitely not about to let this display go unremarked. With a grin, she bends low over Clarke's back, murmuring in her ear, "It appears that all Wanheda needs is the right discipline, and she's just as obedient as the rest. But you're so very responsive, I imagine that you'd perform beautifully for me…with the right encouragement."

Clarke groans around the gag in her mouth, her entire body trembling with need. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and as Lexa watches, a couple of tears spill from their corners. Lexa's own eyes go wide, and she's about to reach up and remove all of Clarke's restraints, gather Clarke to her and whisper gentle apologies, but then Clarke's eyelids flick open again. Her gaze meets Lexa's immediately, and it burns with the last bright flames of defiance. Baring her teeth, she snarls around the gag, "Fuck…you."

With a wordless snarl of her own, Lexa pulls away from her and delivers another flurry of sharp smacks with the crop. Each one is harder than the last, and each one elicits a louder cry. While the Commander is affecting the appearance of having lost control of her temper, in fact she's wielding the crop in a very calculated fashion—timing her strokes carefully so that Clarke has enough time to recover, but not enough to brace herself for the next one. By the time Lexa's counted to seven in her head, Clarke is gasping with every breath and pushing her hips back pleadingly, trying to grind against her thigh. But it's not enough. She's set the parameters clearly. Clarke will get nothing but discipline until she begs for pleasure.

Pulling her hips back a little further so there's no chance Clarke can find any source of friction, Lexa begins to stroke herself again, more purposefully. At the same time, she delivers her eighth smack, to a spot just above the tight ring of Clarke's other entrance. That makes the Sky Girl keen, her entire body seizing against her bonds, and Lexa waits. At first there's nothing, and Lexa prepares to deliver a firmer hit, but then she hears Clarke mutter, "Please." The word is muffled by the gag but still intelligible, and heat shoots through Lexa's body.

"What was that?" she murmurs in a deceptively gentle tone, but she doesn't give Clarke time to rethink her capitulation—the next strike lands on one of the few parts of Clarke's ass that isn't already rosy with her attentions.

That elicits a scream, and then Clarke's crying out, "Please!"

Lexa's hand shoots out to pull the gag from between Clarke's lips, but allows it to fall below her chin, hanging around her neck like a collar. Then she grabs Clarke's jaw, forcing it to turn so she can see the Sky Girl's face, and hisses, "Please what?"

Clarke's eyes squeeze shut again, and the moment hangs between them, quivering with the tension of this final demand for submission. Lexa has been pumping herself vigorously up to this point, building herself to a badly needed but ultimately unsatisfying release. While a part of her is desperate to just thrust her hips forward and take what she wants, she forces the hand on her cock to still. The greater whole of Lexa will wait forever to hear Clarke's acquiescence. It takes as long as it takes.

Clarke bites her lip, trembling hard, and reflexively Lexa runs a soothing hand along the tense line of her back. It's not precisely in character, but it turns out to be the reassurance the Sky Girl needs. Letting out a breath, Clarke moans, "Please, Commander."

Lexa brings the crop down for the final time, the hardest of all, and Clarke screams. Heat sears through Lexa's entire body at the sound, but as it lances down between her legs, it turns to pressure. It only takes a few hard pumps of her hand before her release surges along her shaft, and she can't hold in a groan as it bursts free in heavy pulses. She looks down as the first jet of come shoots out to coat Clarke's gleaming thighs. With the remainder of her self-control, she manages to aim herself, painting Clarke's ass with thick spurts of her release.

It takes a long time for her to empty herself, and even as she does, the sensation isn't entirely satisfying. She pumps her hand frantically along her length, trying to draw out as much of the heavy fullness as possible, but watching the wet lines of her come spill across the upturned swell of Clarke's ass and roll down over her lover's pouting pink lips only makes the ache worse. It's maddening, coming so close to Clarke's entrance without pushing inside. Unable to resist, she lines up the head of her cock with Clarke's opening, not thrusting forward, but allowing the clasping muscles there to milk the final weak spurts of her climax from the twitching tip.

As the last pulses wash over the Clarke's folds, dripping down from her entrance to bathe the tip of her clit, Lexa finally pulls back. She pants, gazing down at the gorgeous sight before her, and her heart leaps in her chest when she realizes that Clarke is squirming against the desk. Little whimpers spill from her newly freed mouth, and Lexa knows she has won. There will be no more defiance from her hainofi during this scene—only obedience.

"Good girl," she says, softening her voice as she strokes one hand over the pink cheeks of Clarke's rear. Her lover's backside is covered with bright red imprints, but Lexa doubts any of them will leave more than the faintest of bruises behind. Thanks to Clarke's interesting tastes, she has gotten quite a bit of practice in how to hit someone without causing any permanent damage. Later, she will rub some numbing salve into Clarke's skin to make sure the stinging fades, but before she indulges in such tenderness, she has business to attend to. Clarke is still writhing, not in an effort to escape, but to reclaim the sensation she has lost.

"Is this what you want, Wanheda?" Lexa drawls, dragging her cock once more through Clarke's folds. Just feeling the wetness and heat is enough to get her hard again, and her first release was barely enough to soften her in the first place. "To be ridden?" She lines the head of her cock up with Clarke's entrance again, and this time, she doesn't stop herself from sinking inside. The tight silk takes her breath away, and it's several moments before she remembers that she's supposed to be taunting her 'captive'. "To be mounted?" She pushes all the way in, and it's wonderfully easy. Clarke might be tight, but she's also soaked and slippery.

"Yes," Clarke hisses, well past denials. She lifts her hips, offering herself without hesitation. As gratifying as Lexa finds the sight, and as much as she enjoys the sharp shivers of Clarke's inner walls around her shaft, she finds herself wanting something more. Clarke is so close, and if she comes again while they're joined this way, Lexa knows the rippling contractions will bring the evening to a conclusion far too soon.

"I see you're finally ready to admit it." She gives her hips a couple of short, rough thrusts, just enough to force a few more sweet wails from Clarke's mouth. "But first, you must prove your obedience." She withdraws, ignoring the whine of protest from beneath her, and busies her fingers with the restraints binding Clarke's wrists. In her distracted state, it takes her a few moments longer than usual to free them, but she manages. Once they fall away, she waits, carefully observing Clarke as she tests her new range of movement.

She needn't have worried. Clarke has no trouble regaining the use of her arms, and she hurries to drape herself back over the table, wiggling her backside in clear invitation. Lexa laughs—not a cold, intimidating sound, but one of genuine joy. Her lover's eagerness is infectious, and it's hard to stay in her role. But somehow, she manages. The connection between them is still electric, crackling with energy, and she draws on that power, using it to fuel her fire. She snarls, grasping Clarke's upper arms and hauling her away from the edge of the table.

"After all the trouble you put me through, do you really expect me to let you off so easily?" Clarke glances back at her with wide blue eyes, but Lexa doesn't give her a chance to speak. She hauls the Sky Girl toward the bed on the other side of the tent, making sure to keep a steel grip. She doesn't think Clarke will try and resist her again, but she wants to keep up the pretense. "Down," she barks, practically throwing Clarke on top of the pile of plush furs that grace the thin wooden frame. "Hands and knees."

For once, Clarke doesn't protest. All that comes out of her is a moan of pure need, and she hurries into the ordered position, bracing herself on all fours. Lexa wants nothing more than to kneel behind her and plunge back inside of the clutching warmth she knows is waiting for her, but she takes her time instead. Slowly, she climbs into place behind Clarke's trembling legs, taking a moment to run her hands along them.

"I am not simply going to give you pleasure without taking my own in return," Lexa drawls. "That wouldn't be fair to me, when I've gone to all the trouble of breaking you to my hand. Would it, Wanheda?"

She waits, listening as Clarke draws in a hissing breath, clearly deciding whether or not to offer further disobedience. Lexa has her palm lifted to deliver a punishing smack to the tantalizing curve of her lover's ass when Clarke murmurs, "No, Commander."

"Good girl," Lexa says, lowering her hand gratefully. As much as she's been drinking in the Sky Girl's enjoyment of the punishment she's dealt out, she finds that she's grown somewhat weary of it. Her cock is aching to be buried somewhere warm and wet, and she suspects Clarke wants the same thing, if the slight rocking of her hips is any indication. "I will tell you what I'm going to do to you, and I expect you to respond. You will thank me for any pleasure I deign to give you. You will tell me how it feels. If you fail to do so…" She shrugs, taking a firm hold of Clarke's hip and squeezing in subtle warning. "I'll simply take what I desire. I'll ride you as hard as I please, use you until you're spent, and then tie you up, still dripping, until I decide to mount you again. Now, tell me…which would you prefer?"

Clarke's shaking by the time she's halfway through her little speech, and it takes a couple of attempts before she can respond, "Please, Commander…use me. I'm yours."

It's exactly the response Lexa was looking for, but just how much it affects her takes her by surprise. She lets out a groan as arousal lances through her entire body, and her grip tightens on Clarke's hips. Her own jerk forward involuntarily and then the tip of her cock is resting at Clarke's entrance, which pulses against it greedily. Lexa takes a few seconds to just gasp, trying to regain control of herself and keep from thrusting into the heat and slickness. Clarke isn't faring any better. The Sky Girl's breathing comes in ragged moans, and Lexa can tell by the way she's quivering that it's taking everything she has not to lean back and try to take the shaft inside of her before it's time. She runs her hands gently along Clarke's thighs and across her rear as a tacit reward, before continuing.

"That's right, Sky Girl," she murmurs, taking hold of her hips again and leaning over her back. "You're mine."

At those words, Clarke's head drops between her shoulders, and then she arches into Lexa, widening her stance just a little bit more. The Commander can hear her frantically trying to stifle a whimper.

"Mine to fuck," she continues, leaning back again, satisfied with her lover's submissive posture. She begins to push forward, driven nearly breathless by the sight of her cock splitting Clarke's glistening lips apart. "Mine to please, if I decide to…"

This time, Clarke can't hold in her whine, but Lexa doesn't mind. She drinks it in, and rewards the desperation by sinking another inch of her shaft inside. "Mine to use, if I don't. Mine to break in how I want you, to reward your obedience…and to punish your defiance." She digs her nails into Clarke's hip warningly. "But there won't be any more of that tonight, will there?"

"No, Commander," Clarke gasps out. "I'll be good, I promise, for you… God, you feel so good, so big… I feel so full…"

Lexa stifles a groan at those words. She's overwhelmed by the way Clarke is shivering around her cock, struggling to accept the intrusion even though it's only halfway buried. Clarke is so tight that only the fact that she's soaking wet enables Lexa to keep going, but she does, pushing forward resolutely until she's completely embedded. Clarke clutches down around her shaft, and both of them freeze and shudder as one, adjusting to the deep penetration. Then Lexa begins thrusting, moving slow at first, pounding hard and fast once she's sure Clarke can handle it.

She needn't have worried. Clarke writhes beneath her, hips lifting in search of more, keening with every stroke. All of her attempts at playful resistance are finished, and Lexa knows she has finally earned her lover's surrender. She savors it for the gift it is, and even though it's slightly out of character, she brings her hand down to the juncture of Clarke's trembling thighs, pausing to feel the place where the shaft of her cock is splitting the Sky Girl open before seeking out the swollen bud of Clarke's clit.

Clarke shouts the moment she hits it, and Lexa grinds the stiff point beneath her fingertips. "You see what obedience earns you?" she grunts, rubbing in harsh circles as she picks up the motion of her hips. "I can give pleasure as well as punishment." It's an effort to get the words out, not because she doesn't enjoy them, but because her cock is aching with fullness. Despite her earlier release, the heavy pressure within her is throbbing twice as fierce as before.

"Yes." Clarke's pelvis jerks, caught between Lexa's hand and her hips, unsure whether to push forward into her fingers or rock back to take more of her cock. "Pleasure. Please, Commander, I want pleasure..."

Lexa smiles, relieved Clarke can't see the happy look on her face. She normally prefers to hear her first name during sex, but something about the way Clarke says Commander during scenes like this...she can't deny how intoxicating her title sounds falling from her hainofi's lips. She also loves the delicious way Clarke clenches immediately after saying the word, inner walls fluttering on the edge of a powerful release—a release Lexa can't help but grant her. She bends low over Clarke's sweaty back, pressing her breasts into the Sky Girl's shoulder blades, growling beside her ear.

"You don't just want pleasure. You want to be mine."

Clarke wails, and Lexa gives another brutal thrust, relieved when she feels her lover's muscles start to ripple around her. She can tell that Clarke is close, and it will only take one more push to tip them both over the edge. She grips the back of the gag that has fallen around Clarke's neck, giving it a firm tug and forcing her lover's spine to arch, cutting off some of Clarke's precious breath. It's a struggle to find her own, but eventually, she draws in enough air to mutter a stream of filthy words that will carry Clarke past the point of no return—that will send them both flying.

"It looks like I've finally captured the steltrona. All she needed was the right stud to mount her, and she becomes as docile as any broodmare."

That does it. Clarke stiffens, shakes, and then screams, inner walls twitching wildly. Searing heat spills out around the base of Lexa's shaft, splashing against both their thighs and running down their legs in rivers to stain the furs beneath. Lexa jogs her hips harder, fucking Clarke through the contractions, speeding up her fingers to an almost frantic pace. Each circle draws out another crashing wave of warmth, and soon, the both of them are soaked in Clarke's pleasure, an ocean flowing between them.

Her own peak isn't far behind. The rhythmic squeezing of Clarke's muscles draws a flood from her shaft, and her hips jolt as she pumps everything she has into the clinging silk of her Sky Girl's pussy. Without even thinking about it, she yanks sharply on the gag around Clarke's throat, forcing their bodies together and panting raggedly against her flushed cheek. Far from being stifled, however, Clarke just screams and comes even harder, wetness pouring out around Lexa's shaft and pulling another flood from the Commander's cock.

Lexa continues thrusting into Clarke with everything she has, wanting more than almost anything to stay embedded in her lover's wet, clinging heat as long as she can. But every time she pushes forward, she drives another ragged scream from Clarke's hoarse throat and squeezes down around her even more beautifully, milking yet more come from Lexa's spilling shaft. As incredible as their lovemaking has been, Lexa doesn't think she's ever come so much or so hard in her life—it's not long before the flood she's pumping into Clarke overflows, and soon, both of their thighs are slick with their shared release.

At last, Clarke gives a final shout, pulsing around the thick shaft embedded within her, and collapses to the bed, no longer able to hold herself up. Lexa jogs her hips a few more times, just to make sure that she's entirely empty, and then follows suit, covering Clarke's limp and exhausted body with her own.

They lie there for a few long moments, simply breathing, slowly coming back to themselves as the scene fades around them. Lexa's hands trail along Clarke's sides, gentle now where they had been rough before, and revels in the feeling of Clarke's bare, flushed skin, and the bonelessness of the limbs beneath her. She feels that she could almost be content to rest here forever, entwined with the woman she loves, but she knows that years of training have packed her body with muscle, and she isn't light. Besides, she needs to make certain that Clarke hasn't sustained any injuries that urgently need tending, and to rub salve into the skin of her rear that surely must be smarting. And although she knows that Clarke had the opportunity to say her word whenever she needed, Lexa also can't help the anxiety from creeping in. What if she had gone too far? What if she's inadvertently pushed beyond some boundary, broken some trust that can't be repaired—

"Stop," Clarke mumbles drowsily into their bedding. Lexa's head jerks up, panic spiking through her body, but her lover hastens to elaborate, "I can hear you thinking that you did something wrong, or that you hurt me, and…stop, okay? You didn't." Her words would be sharp except for the tone in which they're delivered: her voice is filled with sleepy affection.

Lexa allows herself to relax again, sighing against Clarke's neck, before pressing a kiss there. "Thank you," she says quietly. "However, we should get cleaned up." Clarke lets out a whimper of protest as she begins to pull out, and squeezes down hard enough to make Lexa gasp. She delivers a nip to the Sky Girl's shoulder, but soothes it with a kiss a moment later, and she can feel Clarke's body shiver with laughter against her own. Kissing up the line of her neck, all the way to her temple, she murmurs, "If you can behave, I'll rub you with that oil you like. The one with mint and lavender that makes you feel all…tingly?"

Clarke giggles at her clumsy pronunciation of the Skaikru word, and then turns in her arms, and the combination of the sound of her joy and the sated happiness shimmering in her eyes is enough to convince Lexa that all is right with the world at last. Clarke's arms wrap around her neck and pull her in for a kiss, warm and wet and full of all of the affection and love that they had been pretending not to feel for one another. And yet, Lexa can't help but contemplate, perhaps their willingness to do this for each other—for Lexa to demand a submission that she does not truly require, in order to accept that which Clarke's heart aches to give her—is in its own strange way an expression of that love, and the trust that they have placed in each other, against all odds.

Abruptly she finds herself smiling as well, because she's happy as she can ever remember being in her life. She's here, alive, in the circle of Clarke's arms, and Clarke's eyes shine with so much love—love which she never would have dared to hope that she might see, and yet here it is. In her Sky Girl's gaze, and in the words coming from her mouth: "Ai hod yu in, Leksa."

Lexa kisses her for each one before saying, "I love you too, Clarke."

* * *

niron: loved one

hainofi: princess

steltrona: from stealthrunner; a mythical horse that no one can catch

fayagon: guns

Ai hod yu in, Leksa: I love you, Lexa


End file.
